


Bewahret einander...

by tea_limeman



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23691958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_limeman/pseuds/tea_limeman
Summary: A pair, their surroundings filled with a warm colored aura.They aren’t close friends, no lovers, yet.But they’re not unfamiliar to each other.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Till Lindemann
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Bewahret einander...

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest thank you goes to [@christophspowerstance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christophspowerstance) for listening to me during long nights of me trying to write this and for beta-reading ♥

The first thunderstorm of this summer announces itself with a threatening rumble, when he leaves his apartment in the late afternoon. Dark mountains of clouds pile up over the grey facades of Berlin. Till takes a wary glance at the sky but then shrugs and begins his way towards the meet-up with Paul. The man that crashed one of his parties some time ago. They never met again after this, until Till moved to Berlin and ran into him purely by coincidence.

Much alike Till, Paul was about to start something new. Of course Feeling B still existed, but Till noticed the shine missing in his eyes, when he told him about their new album (the last one as he learned some months later). It turned out Aljoscha kept leaving the rest of the band on their own to take advantage of the newly gained freedom after the Wall came down. It simply weren’t the old times anymore.

Till’s way leads him straight through the neighbourhood. It’s one of those days that show how monotone this city actually is. When he got here, everything was new and exciting, he got the feeling everything was possible now. He became used to it way too fast.

Life seems to vibrate at every single corner, though Berlin presents itself with the exact same scenes as the last years. The same angry employees crossing his way, tourists lost on their way towards an unknown destiny, the same lost souls sitting in the corner pubs and right in the middle of this – a lot of “alternative” folks. They’re colourful, creative, but still the same people as every day.

Around thirty minutes later he enters one of the concreted backyards with a rapid pace and walks into the dark stairway right in front of him.  
The building Paul decided to be his home is one of the many squats of Berlin. You pay a certain amount of money one time only, no rent whatsoever but all you get is an apartment, no comfort or any other specials. No one bothers, though.

For the sake of not tripping on one of the ailing steps only enlightened by the light from the outside, Till props up his sunglasses. The entry smells like piss and rat shit. Following, the mouldering smell of the basement reaches his nose. Grimacing, he starts to step up the stairs towards the fourth floor.

The door to Paul’s living place is open. Of course - without lease contract there is no chance to get a key.

He contemplates to knock for the sake of courtesy, but ends up just entering the small hallway of the apartment. Directly to his right he can see into the even smaller kitchen. To his left, there is a tiny bathroom including a shower and a sink. The toilet is halfway downstairs. There is not a big chance for privacy, because except for an unstable looking one for the bathroom, every door in here is missing.

Across from where he is standing, the hallway leads into a third room. Music in an unmistakeable sound greets Till’s ears. Obviously Paul is blasting the shit out of one of the countless punk bands from Germany’s capital city.

It has Till cracking a smirk. Although it’s not the time for german punk music anymore, Paul never gave up this attitude to life.

Shoulder propped against the doorframe, Till lets his gaze wander around. This room is sleeping and living area in one. It is sparsely arranged, just like the rest of the “apartment”.

A rather wide mattress lying on the floor functions as bed as well as a sofa. Gathered around are several books, a pair of shoes, clothing and other stuff that build a homely chaos. He spots Paul’s acoustic guitar propped on a pile of pillows. There are only two pieces of actual furniture – a small three legged, battered looking table and an old dresser. On top of it, Till finds the source of the music and a camera, carefully arranged as if this is Paul’s most precious property. It probably is.

Paul himself is nowhere to find.

Leaning into the room a bit further he gets aware of the widely opened balcony door. Warm air pours into the room, leaving the slightly yellowed curtains swinging due to the light draft. It smells like cigarettes, maybe even weed and between the screeching guitars he spots a voice that doesn’t belong on the tape.

Curiosity lets Till step closer, revealing a view that has him chuckling lowly.

One bare foot propped against the railing, Paul is balancing the white plastic chair on one of its hind legs. The whole construction looks far from safe, but the younger man seems to have the blast of his live. Eyes closed and occasionally throwing a hand up in the air out of pure enthusiasm, he sings along, not caring about the world around him.

Till knocking against the glass of the open door has Paul jolting forward, pulling the chair with him and landing rather harshly on its four legs again.

“For fuck’s sake!” His free hand dramatically propped against his chest, Paul turns around. Eyes wide, it only takes him a few seconds to overcome the unexpected shock. Then, a grin appears on his face. “I thought you’d never drag your ass over here. What took you so long?”

“Hi Paul.” Ignoring the question, Till steps out on the balcony, eyes searching for a place to sit. There is another plastic chair that looks even more battered than the one Paul is sitting on. Also it’s missing a leg. Definitely not a good choice.

A bit uncertain, he buries his hands in his pockets. He prefers standing over eventually breaking that fucked up thing and knocking his head into the also not really safe looking, rusty railing.

“You don’t want to stand there for the next couple hours, right?” Paul leans over, offering Till a cigarette.  
Till shrugs, accepting the cigarette and sticking it between his lips.

“Oh come on Till,” Paul playfully rolls his eyes, reaches behind himself and throws a ratty looking pillow on the ground, “Get comfortable and relax.”

Not waiting for Till to follow his instruction, Paul reaches down next to his chair, grabbing a small bottle. Holding it up to his eye level, he squints through the brown glass only to realize it’s empty. He props his feet against the tiled floor and huffs as if it was too much of a burden to get up right now. 

“I’ll grab another bottle. Want some beer too?” Finally standing, Paul stretches his arms up behind his head and supresses a yawn. Till thinks he looks like a cat getting up after a long sunbath. He simply nods.

Paul leaves the balcony and shuffles towards the small kitchen. “I’ve got some wine too and uh,” the sound of the opening fridge reaches Till, as well as the clinking of several bottles, “Some lemonade, schnapps and – oh, yes – even more wine.” 

Shoving the pillow aside, Till decides to sit down on the bare tiles. His joints crack lightly as he does so. “I’m good with a beer,” he calls towards Paul, “At least for now.”

He realizes the unlit cigarette is still lingering between his lips and lets his eyes roam over the place to find something to light it. He spots a pack of matches on top of the windowsill next to him, grabs it and fiddles out a single matchstick. He lights it without effort and holds it up to his cigarette.

The first drag leaves a raspy feeling in his throat which he cures with the second one. As he slowly blows out the smoke, his gaze wanders off to the view behind the bars of the railing.

Despite the rundown state of the building the outlook from here is pretty nice. The wide sea of buildings interrupted by some green looks almost peaceful. The huge, dark clouds piling up and gradually swallowing the sun blend with the scenery into something surreal.

The silent growling of thunder has Till’s heartbeat rising in excitement as he takes another drag.

“You’re not much of a talker today, huh?” Paul appears in the doorframe, holding out one of the bottles he carries.

Till lets out the smoke through his nose and takes the offered drink. “Hmm, I’m sorry.”

Paul cracks a light laugh. “Don’t apologize. I talk for two so it’s okay,” he takes a sip from his beer, “And I enjoy your company even if you’re not willing to have a full conversation with me.”

Something in this statement is odd to Till but he can’t put his finger on it so he sweeps his gaze back on the sky. Hopefully the thunderstorm will bring some rain.

*

There was no rain and when the thunderstorm passed, the summer heat came back.

They hadn’t moved inside and now that it’s dark, the warmth is more bearable. Still, Till feels sort of overheated. As he empties the remaining wine, it dawns on him it could be because of the amount of alcohol they drank over the last hours.

Next to him, Paul is stuck in a flood of words, babbling about his time with Feeling B and their journey through America. At some point, he joined Till on the floor. Now he’s lying on his front, hands propped under his chin, legs bent and his feet dangling in the air. “You should have seen Flake. His eyes were literally sparkling at the amount of stuff they had. I guess that was before he decided to hate this country.” He stops his rambling to take a gulp out of his beer.

Till takes it as a chance to ask the question resting on his tongue for some minutes.

“Do you miss these times?”

For a short moment a light shadow lingers on Paul’s face and he furrows his brow as if he had to think about it.

“Sometimes… Especially the times we spent on Hiddensee. It was all about being free and existing just the way we wanted to. But I think it wouldn’t work out anymore. Times changed and everyone grew out of it at some point.”

“Except for Aljoscha,” Till mumbles over the rim of his freshly opened bottle.

That has Paul huffing a dry laugh, but he refuses to add something. Their former band leader had been a sensitive topic during the last years. Especially since he started to drift off into a world of his own wild conspiracies and tried to talk shit about his former bandmates.

Till feels some regret rising up in his chest for bringing the conversation on him and with that muffling Paul’s friskiness. When he turns his head to look at Paul, he finds him fiddling with the sticker of his bottle, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He can’t guess what’s on his mind and the alcohol makes his own thoughts spin, increasing the urge of wanting to know. He wants to ask him what it is, not only because he‘s curious, but for the sake of increasing the momentary mood.

His tongue feels oddly heavy when he speaks up again, as if hours have passed since he has spoken the last time.

“Paul…I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” 

Pauls eyes perk up at him, realization striking them when Till stops his words.

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s okay, it’s the past now and well– I mean we became different persons…” He raises his hand to ruffle through his already dishevelled blond hair. “To be honest, I don’t care about him that much anymore. I already stopped when we still were in the band together.”  
A sigh escaping Tills mouth doesn’t take the weight pulling on his shoulders away. He knows Paul wouldn’t tell him this without a reason, he’s glad he wasn’t hurting him, but he can’t get past the feeling that there’s more to the younger man’s change of mood.

But before he can bring up the courage to point it out, Paul suddenly hoists himself up into a sitting position, a broad smile gracing his lips. Till is startled by both, the sudden movement and the grin. As if he’s never seen it before, Till scans Pauls face feeling sympathetic warmth spreading on his cheeks as his brain whispers him the idea of finding this face beautiful.

He coughs a bit awkwardly, raising one eyebrow to show Paul he’s listening.

“I just realized I haven’t taken a single picture of you by now. Just…” he wildly gestures with his hands in Tills direction, “Just stay there…” He already entered his apartment when he peaks his head back outside. “And don’t you dare to move a single muscle!”

He leaves behind a confused Till. How did Paul go from being weirdly moody to wanting to take a picture? Right now, basically in the middle of the night. 

Irritated, Till reaches for the smoking utensils placed right next to him. Considering his slightly drunken state the cigarette turns out quite okay. He lights it, still trying to figure out why he just felt something like romantic interest for his band mate. Raking his free hand through his long dark bangs, he inhales the smoke, feeling the familiar mixture of alcohol and nicotine fogging up his brain.

A clicking noise snaps him out of his deliberate unconsciousness.

“I told you not to move.”

Till lifts his head. Paul stands in the doorframe, a silhouette enlightened by the lamp he must have turned on inside. When he steps out, Till catches a glimpse of his brows slightly furrowing. But it’s gone within a second, replaced by the excited expression he left with.

Sitting down again, Paul shifts a bit closer to Till. It’s enough for Till to smell the mixture of warm skin, alcohol and something that probably is his hair wash. Again, he feels this unnamed warmth tingling in his chest.

It takes another click to make Till realize Paul is holding his camera, as if it wasn’t obivous. He frowns, reflexively raising his hand. “Paul please…don’t. I look like shit!”

Paul clicks his tongue, but beams at him all the more. “I don’t want to hear that! Somehow you managed to vanish every time I wanted to picture you. No excuses anymore.” Impatiently waiting for Till to take his hand back down, Paul watches him with determined grey eyes.

Heaving a sigh, Till lets his hand fall into his lap.

“Better.” Another click. This time it has him flinching, not because it came unexpectedly, but simply because he doesn’t feel comfortable having a camera right in front of his nose.

“Paul, I …”

“Good. Just act like I am not here okay? I won’t bother you with posing for the picture. I like the natural ones way better. They have more of that …”

“Paul, could you please take that thing down for a moment?” His voice sounds more forceful than he intended. He reaches for his beer, takes a sip and straightens his posture.

Camera still in hand Paul seems a bit disappointed, maybe a little guilty. He shakes his head slightly and puts a reassuring hand on Tills shoulder, his voice now a lot more level and serious. “Sorry. I might have went a bit overboard.”

Silence falls over them, while Till tries to bring his words in the right order to explain himself. Paul puts the camera aside and reaches for the tobacco, giving in on the urge to smoke, too.

Taking another inhale, Till finally decides to show Paul something of himself. A thing he doesn’t dare too often. They are band mates for nearly two years now, not speaking of the time they got to know each other. Like with his other friends, Till wasn’t sure about sharing his feelings, thoughts or problems with Paul. But it wouldn’t hurt him to do so, right? Despite Paul being a talkative person, he never involved odds or personal secrets into a fight or against a person he couldn’t stand. He proved several times he’s a person one can trust. Till can trust. He may be a bit fast to judge from time to time, but Till knows he’s a good person by heart.

He clears his throat. Why does he feel so nervous?

“It’s actually not about the pictures. I simply …” He rubs a hand over his eyes, “I simply don’t feel like someone being worth to take a picture of.”  
When Till risks a glance towards him, Paul looks like he wants to say something but he remains silent.

“I can’t tell you exactly why. May it be my crippling self-doubt or the dislike of publicity in general.” He himself knows where this comes from. He’s well aware of his father’s words influencing his self-perception.

Paul seems to think about his words. A small wrinkle builds on the bridge of his nose while he brings his cigarette to his lips again. Calmly exhaling, he fixes his eyes on Till.

“Hmm, I see. Can I tell you something?”

Till nods.

Paul straightens his shoulders and absentmindedly picks a flake of ash from his pants.

“I think you’re quite handsome.”

Immediately, Till feels his cheeks heat up.

“Don’t get me wrong on this, I don’t want to…” Paul shakes that sentence off with a gesture of his hand, “Whatever… I just think you have some sort of beauty one doesn’t see that often. And speaking in general, it’s never about defining beauty solely from the outside. You are fascinating in both parts. This may sound kind of cheesy, but I always liked your demeanour. We know each other for about two years, right? And up to this day, I’m still asking myself how you are able to be that calm, kinda mysterious man. I get you’re not a big fan of attention. Constantly being around musicians and people who want to fulfil their dreams at all cost can be exhausting. Everyone shows off who they are, who they will be some time. They demand much and rarely reward you. So let me tell you this: Don’t let them make you feel like you’re not special. Don’t tell yourself you’re not worth being the person you are.”

Even after finishing his short monologue, Paul keeps eye contact, his face remaining serious while Till doesn’t know how to react. He feels somewhat flattered and his cheeks are burning, but still…

“My father once told me I’ll never find a person who wants me because of my appearance. And ever since, not a single day passes where I look into a mirror and not hear this sentence.”

Paul makes a face. “Bullshit.”

Till glances down at his half emptied beer. Thinking about this makes his mind race and brings up all the self-hatred he bottles up deep inside of him. He can feel his brows furrow with anger, something inside his chest boiling up and pushing away the warmth he felt at Paul’s words. Curling his hand tightly around the neck of the bottle he tries to push it back without much success. He needs to move.

Bringing his legs up from under himself, propping a hand to the wall next to him, he hoists himself up, eyes downcast.

“Be right back.” Till can’t prevent his voice from carrying a growling tone as he passes Paul, nearly stumbling over the rim of the doorframe as he shoves his way inside.

Only when he reaches the tiny bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, he dares to take a breath. Now that he’s standing, he becomes aware of how drunk he really is. Propping his hands on the edges of the sink, he tries to take a deeper breath with the intention to calm down. It works out rather indifferently. Another deep breath has his vision spinning the lightest bit, so he closes his eyes, resting his head between his hands, his heated forehead touching the cold surface of the sink.

A few minutes pass, while he stays like this, motionless. The cool porcelain of the sink helps to return to a clearer mind. The rage tightening his chest eventually vanishes and his thoughts slow down. But they don’t stop. They never fucking stop.

When a sob crawls up in his throat he, forces himself to raise his gaze. He feels pathetic and childish for having such an outburst of emotions in his band mate’s apartment.

Expecting to meet the sight of his own face, he tightens the grip around the rim of the sink. But to his surprise, all he can spot is the concrete coloured wall in front of him. It takes him a split second, but when he realizes, his jaw stops tensing. The muscles in his back slowly relax until he’s able to stand straight without the need of support.

Bringing both hands to his face, Till lets out a stifled grunt. He feels like a damn fool.

A knock on the door stops his thoughts abruptly. Once more it seems like Paul gets him out of his own head. Something Till is glad about.  
“Are you okay in there?” Paul sounds confident, maybe confused.

Till appreciates that he isn’t able to pick out the pitiful tone that usually underlies these questions. He takes a moment to answer, hoping his voice won’t betray him. 

“Yes. I’m coming out, better step back.” He can hear Paul following his warning and manages to crack a smile when he opens the door.  
The look on Paul’s face has a hint of relief in it, and once again Till starts to wonder why he cares so much about his band mate showing emotions or affection towards him. What is this weirdly safe feeling that fills his chest, when he realizes Paul actually cares about him? He simply isn’t able to name it.

“I’m sorry, my father tended to be an asshole sometimes. It wasn’t that bad most of the time.” Till shrugs and tries to show off some confidence, though he’s having a hard time to do so.

Paul simply looks at him, without a visible reaction, but Till notices the wrinkle on his nose building up again. The younger man takes a step forward, surprising Till as he brings his arms around him to pull him into a firm hug.

“Stop excusing for things you’re not responsible for.” His voice is muffled because he buried his face in Till’s shoulder.

Till hears these words, but they don’t quite reach through to him. Till feels like his rationality just gave up on him over the last minutes. Either it’s that or the sheer physical contact that overwhelms him right now that keeps him unmoving. Not that he isn’t enjoying it but something keeps him from rising his arms and responding to Paul’s hug. Meanwhile, Paul isn’t showing a sign of letting go, he even starts moving one of his hands over Till’s back, tenderly circling over the space between his shoulder blades.

That touch has Till relaxing the slightest bit, a silent sigh leaving his lips, the muscles in his back slackening and letting another part of his uneasiness go. But even before he can start to contemplate if it’s his turn to give some affection, Paul reaches down to grab Till’s arm and bring it up around his waist.

Paul’s skin is pleasantly warm under his fingertips…and soft. Till’s face is heating up again, the red now reaching his ears. He feels embarrassed. He wants to hide somewhere but at the same time he craves the affection Paul is offering him. That last thought has him slowly, carefully moving his hand ever so slightly.

Paul hums lowly at the soft touch, bringing himself closer to Till which somehow encourages him to keep his hand moving, even leaning in a bit. The direct skin to skin contact has a comforting shiver running up his spine.

They stand like this for a time that feels like hours to Till. His hand had stilled on Paul’s lower back, contentment reaching out in his chest and even if he can’t fully relax in this situation, he slowly becomes used to it.

With a final stroke over Till’s shoulders, Paul is carefully loosening the embrace but without breaking the physical contact. One hand on Till’s upper arm, he looks up at him searching something in his green-blue eyes.

“Are you feeling better?” His voice is low, the impact of alcohol now a lot more audible.

Till sighs and brings a hand up to rub at his neck. Cheeks still warm, he nods, giving Paul an honest, reassuring smile.

“Let’s get comfy. I feel like giving my back a good rest.” Paul breaks the intimate situation by changing back to his bubbly self. Smiling, he starts walking to his room, mumbling something about getting too sober again.

Despite still feeling a bit unsteady, Till agrees. It’s not too late for more alcohol and he needs to compensate the confusion left behind by that tender exchange.

*

They end up haphazardly slumped on Paul’s rather big mattress. Paul threw his blankets on the floor, while complaining that it’s way too warm for sleeping with them, much like a petulant child. The only difference was that Paul had a huge drunk smile on his face throughout. Now, he’s rambling on about everybody and his dog. His voice comes out slurred and he’s stumbling over words because he’s talking too fast for his current state.

Till lays next to him, arms comfortably propped behind his head, watching his band mate trying to explain something to him. He isn’t fully listening. At some point, his mind went back to the affection from earlier.

Paul’s hug was firm, the soft skin under his own calloused hand so nicely warm. It felt good. Now that he’s too drunk to not let his insecurity cloud his mind with concern, Till realizes he doesn’t want it to be the first and last physical interaction with Paul for that evening.

Paul shifting in an uneasy manner has Till snapping back to reality.

“When did it get so fucking cold?” Paul crosses his arms in front of his chest, rubbing his hands over his biceps. Till hasn’t wondered yet, but considering he never cared to cover his torso with a shirt, it was only a question of time until Paul started to feel cold.

“What about getting something to dress?” Till suggests.

Paul rolls on his side and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Do I look like I want to get up right now?”

Till shrugs, remembering the blankets laying on the floor within reach but figures even that would be too much of an effort for his band mate.

“Come here.” The thought of wanting Paul close lingering behind his forehead lets him extend an arm, offering the younger man shelter.

With a happy giggle, Paul immediately scoots closer, bringing one arm around Till’s waist and pulling himself as close as possible.

Although Till’s heartbeat increases at the intimate contact, he lifts his arms to enclose Paul’s form. He intertwines his fingers and squeezes lightly, drawing a pleased hum from the smaller man.

“You’re so warm…” Paul’s voice is a little muffled from his face being stuck in between Till’s chest and arm. “See, I’m a lump of ice compared to you.”

Till winces when something freezing cold touches the side of his body. Somehow Paul managed to slide his hand under Till’s shirt without him realizing. It has Paul responding with a light snicker, but he shows mercy on Till and withdraws his hand.

A sigh escaping Till’s lips has Paul wiggling free from Till’s hug. His lazy grey eyes perk up at him, askingly searching his face.

Even when he looks tired and a bit wasted, Till happens to think Paul has a pretty face. The freckles decorating his nose give him something cheeky although his features remain calm right now. He wants to trace them with his finger, but decides against it and lets his hand loosely rest on Paul’s lower back instead.

Propping his chin on the top of his hand, Paul studies Till. He lets his gaze roam over his features, seemingly finding his lips especially interesting.  
Noticing Paul quickly licking his lips, Till realizes he must be contemplating something.

“I could kiss you right now.”

Till’s heart skips a beat. He didn’t anticipate this and feels his cheeks heating up again. He doesn’t have much time to think about it, as Paul laughs silently, though his eyes keep that serious expression. Trying to read Till’s thoughts, his voice is somewhat softer, when he speaks again.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

Till is too baffled by Paul’s bold suggestion to answer right away. He wants to, but would that be a good idea? They are drunk, not even close friends yet.

He simply isn’t sure how to react. He sure as hell is blushing in a deep red by now.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes then?” An almost invisible smirk appears on Paul’s face.

The lack of words makes Till aware of how fast his heart beats. This is a situation he isn’t able to handle well. His thoughts rotate back to the hug from earlier. He can’t miss this chance right? But his tongue is glued to his palate, his throat tied, leaving him mute like a fish.

More seconds pass while Paul’s smirk widens, right before he leans in without another word.

At the very first moment, Till feels too overwhelmed to show any reaction. Not that he’s surprised by the action. Paul made more than clear what he wanted to do. He simply lays there not daring to move a single muscle, hands limp against Paul’s back. Only when Paul starts to purse his lips, Till recovers his ability to move. Subconsciously remembering how to act like a normal person being kissed, he closes his eyes.

Paul’s lips feel soft against his own. He can make out the aftertaste of beer and cigarette smoke. The warmth radiating from Paul’s body catches his own on fire and even before he can think about it, Till parts his lips the slightest bit and starts returning the kiss.

The gentle pursing makes his insides feel light and tingly. He can feel a smile spreading on Paul’s lips, followed by a soft humming.

When the younger man slowly withdraws, Till wishes for that moment to last a little longer. Keeping his eyes shut, he listens to his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“You’re a good kisser,” Paul muses, his grin audible in his voice.

Till’s heartbeat picks up yet again. He doesn’t know how or what to respond, or if Paul expects an answer. Shyly opening his eyes, he’s greeted by the sight of Paul with a very smug face that makes him involuntarily snort.

“Thank you,” Till finally mumbles. “I guess you’re not bad at it as well.”

His sarcasm has Paul cracking a laugh, creating cute wrinkles around his sparkling eyes.

Till catches himself staring, well aware that he fell for him. As if he didn’t already know that for the whole evening, though.

Paul rolls off of him, hoisting himself into a seated position and leans against the wall behind them. Mid-yawn he starts talking: “So… You want to crash at my place or go back to yours…?” He stretches his neck, a strand of his blonde hair falling in front of his forehead.

Till brings a hand to his face, rubbing away the glorified expression still lingering on his features. He contemplates a walk home would give him the chance to sort out his thoughts. But the idea of moving, with the destination being his small and empty flat is not what he would call tempting right now.

“Do I look like I could get up right now?” Mimicking Paul’s sentence from earlier, Till reaches for a pillow to stuff it under his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Paul doesn’t fail to pick up on it and a broad grin replaces his yawn.

“Good, but you should be aware of you being my personal stuffed animal, then.”

That has Till huffing a laugh. If that’s the price he has to pay, he’s more than content with that.


End file.
